Gunfire echoed through the jungle as cannons and mortars roared overhead, each blast rolling through the canopy like thunder trapped beneath the leaves.
Luzon, Palawan, and the Visayas had all fallen in a year-long campaign of excessive brutality.
Erich had seen war before, whether it was in the Catalonian Plains, or the ruins of Dunkirk. He was a man well versed in combat. But this campaign… was different.
The battlefields of Europe had been clear, decisive, civilized in their own grim way.
Here, in the jungles of the Philippines, war bled into every shadow and every doorway.
He had learned to fear not just the crack of rounds whipping past his skull or the rumble of engines in the distance, but the twitch of a branch, the shifting of brush, the subtle creak of a bamboo wall. Here, anything could kill you, and often did.
In truth, the Central Powers weren't fighting one enemy. They were fighting three.
